#dove is apparently a hands on head girlie

[cyberneticnipples]

🛠️⚙️🔩

[theragethatisdesire]

hello bb and congratulations again 💗💗💗 i’m so happy and excited for you hitting such a major milestone 🥳 so well deserved!!

could i please request “do you trust me?” w geto? 🥺 no preference on fluff smut or angst, just whatever speaks to you

tytyty in advance 🥰 luv u~

HEY TIFF thank you so much!!!!! i just adore you mwah you're the BEST. i can absolutely do that for you my lovie dove WHERE are all these geto asks coming from rn i have another in my inbox ?!?! i didn't know all u geto girlies were hiding in my followers like hello....ANYWAY i am not a manga girly so i have no idea how geto's actual storyline goes so i went with a modern!AU as is my tendency

-

It's been a rough day. You're three tequila sodas deep, nuzzled into the wood of your favorite dive bar, and trying to ignore the tears continuously threatening to well in your eyes. Your phone sits on the counter, buzzing continuously and likely irritating the other patrons, but you're beyond caring.

Your cheating, piece-of-work, now ex-boyfriend knows no bounds apparently, sending text after text groveling and begging you to pick up. You have no intentions of doing so, but watching the screen light up over and over again, reading his begging, is giving you a sick satisfaction. Bastard.

"Excuse me?"

A voice floats over your shoulder, deep and pleasant. You turn, fully ready to bark at whoever dared interrupt your misery, but your mouth shuts as soon as you catch sight of the man behind you.

Tall and broad, with long dark hair tied into a neat bun, two little pieces framing his angular face beautifully. He's gorgeous, but something about him disarms you in a way you wish he wouldn't. Your woman's intuition is whispering that something more lurks below the innocent, friendly smile on his face, something dangerous, but you swallow it down, intrigued.

"Yes?"

"Is this seat taken?"

You're surprised; sweaty, fresh out of work in your little waitress uniform, face blotchy with the remnants of spilt tears, you absolutely aren't looking your best. You shrug, nod, and gesture towards the seat, unsure of what exactly this guy's playing at.

"You seem to be drinking alone," he observes after allowing a few quiet minutes to stretch between you.

"I am," you confirm, wincing at the popping sound your straw makes, the last bits of your cocktail struggling to make it up to your mouth, "I try not to make it a habit, but it's been a bit of a day."

"Hm," he nods thoughtfully, reaching a beckoning hand out to the bartender. After he orders his scotch, he orders a drink for you, nailing the combination perfectly: tequila soda, splash of lime juice, with an orange slice. Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

"How did you-"

"I overheard you earlier." That same friendly, disarming smile graces his face, warms your core and sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

"Have you been...watching me?"

"No," he waves a nonchalant hand through the air, sliding a black Amex across the counter to the bartender, "not watching. I just tend to keep an eye on a beautiful woman when I see one."

You blink. Should you be creeped out? Intrigued? Ashamed of the lusty electricity buzzing through your veins at his compliment? All three?

"T-thank you," you stammer, unsure of what else to say.

"Speaking of beautiful women," he turns towards you, cheersing his glass against your own, "what are you doing drinking on your own?"

"My boyfriend sucks," you mumble around the little plastic straw between your lips, "ex that is."

"He must not be all that bright, then," his eyes trail over your figure meaningfully, something in his smile growing darker.

"I just want to forget about him," you admit, shamefully vulnerable in front of a total stranger. You realize you don't even know his name, but when he lays a hand across your thigh, high up enough to be far from friendly, you feel a familiar heat spark across your skin. It's enough to forego the details, you need plenty of things from this mysterious stranger, but not his name.

"I know a thing or two about forgetting someone," his tongue darts out to wet his lips, yours mirroring it unintentionally, "would you like...some advice?"

"I don't know," you chuckle, "what kind of advice?"

"Well, it's more help than it is advice," that smile deepens into a smirk, one eyebrow raising in a silent challenge, "do you trust me?"

"You're a perfect stranger."

"I am," he inclines his head in admittance, but doesn't lose his stamina for a moment, "do you trust me?"

And maybe it's the tequila, maybe it's his strong neck that looks like it would give so deliciously under your teeth, maybe it's the insistent little circles his thumb is rubbing into your thigh, but you feel freer, more daring than before. It escapes your mouth in a whisper, desperate and trembling in the air between you.

"Yes."

[sweetmusingss]

Renee pouted when hearing what you said, taking your hand in hers. She could not imagine being in the situation that you were in. You were only being yourself and it was like you had to be punished and molded into this person that you weren't for the public to accept you. Just in the short time you had been together, she could see the immense amount of pressure that you were put under. "I am really sorry, baby. That seems like something the young teenagers do too... You really have to do that? That's just another thing to be added to your already full plate," she said, not wanting to make anything about her but she already felt like she had no time to talk to you. "It's not fair that you have to deal with all of this."

“It’s something America’s Sweetheart does. Doesn’t matter how old I am. They want me there looking super girly and pretending to be scared of mud and getting dirty so people would wipe the thought ‘lesbian’ from their mind.” I scoff, interlacing our fingers together. “I think they’re bringing back some older people for it. They were probably gonna ask Dove, and if they do now or if they have already, she and I won’t be allowed even on the field at the same time. God forbid.” I groan, leaning my head back and taking a deep breath. I never wanted to complain about my career, I was so fortunate and lucky. But sometimes Disney really took it a step too far. “On the plus side, I think they’re having the Jonas brothers there. My little 13 year old year will love that,” I smile, trying to make the best of the situation but it was definitely something I was dreading.

__

I was so turned on by your dominance, loving to see this side of you. I ended up fooling around with you for a little while, my naked body sprawled over yours once we were done. I smile shyly up at you, still recovering. "Holy hell.. That was so good, baby. I could definitely get used to that," I say, running my hand slowly down your toned stomach. "I didn't know you had that rough, possessive side to you. I really like it," I breathe out before leaning in and kissing you slowly. I knew you had to go soon and I was probably just going to lay here for a while, thinking about what just happened.

Seb chuckled sleepily as you said you didn’t know he had that in him, shrugging his shoulders, his fingers drawing circles against the skin of your lower back. “Honestly, neither did I… that’s never happened to me before. It was like a different version of me came out.” Seb always knew he had it in him, but he never felt comfortable to let it out. Obviously with you he let those guards down, apparently. “That was amazing though. Dare I say, the best I’ve ever had. You’re… incredible.”

[memfys23]

The Sound

“C’mon, girl. Smell the nice fishy? Hmm? Nice and fresh.”

There’s a small splash as the fish hit the water, but the sea lions took no notice of it and continued to stare impassively at Sam where he stood on the ship deck. Just after sunrise they had been swimming in long arcs parallel to the shore of the nearby island, but as the First Green had drifted in closer, more and more of them had shortened their sweeps until there was an audience of several floating off starboard, watching with eerie quiet.

The fish rocked gently black and forth as it slowly sank and the sleek animals made no move to follow it.

Dean whistled. “That is some damn impressive training. Also…” He gave a quick whack to the back of his brother’s head. “The fuck you think you’re gonna keep one of those things?”

“Ow!” Sam pushed the hair out of his face on the way to rubbing the back of his head. “I wasn’t trying to catch one. I just thought I’d make friends.”

“Sure, Sammy.”

“Seriously, Dean. We live in a two bedroom walk-up. Even if we moved, renting a place with a pool would seriously stretch our budget… at least at my old job’s wages…”

“No, Sammy”

“And my car’s too small to transport for vet visits. I’d have to stick it in the backseat of – “

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence.”

Sam grinned at the finger pointed in his face.

“You’re too easy.”

Dean huffed and returned to counting the alcohol swabs in the first aid kit while Sam continued watching the sea lions watch him.

Satisfied that the kit was still fully stocked, Dean returned it to the case on the wall and joined Sam at the railing just in time for a series of low whistles to come across the water. The sea lions attention was grabbed and they began ducking beneath the water and swimming away towards the island in the distance.

From here in the pall of the northwest, the settlement that they knew was there was a smudge on the shoreline; the small windmill floating off shore was lost in the gray.

Dean raised his binoculars and watched as the sea lions were greeted by other figures in the crashing surf. The sea lions nosed at hands and showed a playfulness that had absolutely been absent the rest of the day.

“I wish we could talk to them,” Sam said, lowering his own binoculars to push the hair out of his eyes. “Think about what we could learn about each other if we could just talk.”

“Yeah. Maybe if I throw you overboard one of them will mistake you with your girly hair as a damsel in need of rescue and sweep you back to their shack for a little ‘cultural exchange’.”

Sam punched him in the arm, hard and then went back to his binoculars.

Meeting a selkie would definitely be a highlight to this trip. In addition to all the safety discussions and the legal walk throughs (how close were they allowed to get to the actual oil pipeline, what could they take pictures of, etc.), Dean and the rest of the Green Peace expedition had been forced to sit through a seminar on interacting with any selkie that they encountered on this trip. It boiled down to don’t.

To call the selkie standoffish was an understatement. For most of history the relations between human and Selkie had been cold at best and hostile at worst. Selkie who intruded to much into human fishing waters were often chased off their settlements, forced to rocky islands that Humans found utterly inhospitable. History was also littered with the tales of ships run aground, or worse sunk with all hands after straying too close to Selkie waters.

Of course history was more complicated. There were good stories too. Drowned sailors thought lost forever returned to their home shores, lost selkie saved from circling sharks and given a lift to the nearest rookery. Careful exchanges of technology and culture over the centuries. A handful of documented cases of friendship and, even rarer, romance. Hell, the jacket Dean’s father had left him was Selkie made, passed on to John from who knows where. Decades old as it was, it still kept the rain out like nothing else.

It would be pretty cool to meet selkie. Would definitely be worth several free beers over the course of his life. But it was better not to get their hopes up. The First Green was here to observe the local oil pipeline and its impacts on the non-human and non-selkie ecology. Cultural exchange was not in their mission statement and the local selkie population had made no overtures during their week here so far. They had kept distant from the ship and the divers, shifting their fishing patterns and their herds to the other side of their island presumably to wait out the expedition.

Dean and Sam watched the selkie and their sea lions splashing through the surf a little while longer and moved on when the expedition’s volunteer photographer wandered over. He left Sam to point out different parts of the landscape and the selkie rookery to Sarah while she peered through her camera.

*             *             *

With the exception of the mornings, the weather in Lopez Bay had been beautiful. The sun had sparkled over the deep green waters and warm breezes had moved the air just enough to keep it from being stifling without providing any chill.

Even the selkie had seemed to loosen up. Early in the third week the crew had woken up one morning to find the sea cows back in their original cove and while the raft of sea lions continued to watch the ship warily and ignore the occasional fish a crewperson tried to tempt them with, they were now joined by a gaggle of motley pelted seals who responded with much less stoicism. The seals eagerly leapt, dove, an spun and they received a rain of fish as their reward.

It had been far more comfortable than Dean had been led to believe the Pacific Northwest to be.

Today was a whole other kettle of fish. Overnight it seemed the region had finally decided to show her true colors. Rain slapped against the windows and the floor of the mess was slick with water tracked in every time someone came from outside. Rain slickers dripped water down the walls where they were hung and every glass surface fogged with the collected breaths of the crew and the steam rising from their mugs.

Sam blew on his hot chocolate and took a small sip before putting it down again.

“You want me to get you some marshmallows to go with that?” Dean asked as he slid on to the bench.

“You have marshmallows?”

Dean shook his head and cradled his own mug close to his frozen nose.

“Seriously, Dean. If you’re hoarding marshmallows, share the goddamn wealth.”

Dean sipped his coffee. Too hot, but he wasn’t gonna be a goddamn girl about it like Sam. “Shaddup. How are your talks going with the fishing company? Are they still threatening to sue our asses to hell and back?”

“They won’t give any ground, but we’re not actively interfering with any of their transports and they can’t object to any of the observations we’re taking. No activities they undertake in public waters can be considered proprietary so we’re fully within our rights to take pictures and videos and the scientists have their own permits for testing and observing in the wildlife reserve so they can’t keep our people out of the water and away from their equipment as long as we’re not actually interfering with any of it.”

“They are damn lucky you were able to get such a good stretch of time off between your old firm and the new one.”

“I’m not the only one who’s managed to impress on this trip. I was talking with Doctor Karam earlier. His wife is a physician with Doctors Without Borders and they’re apparently looking for supply logisticians. Experienced people who understand medical needs and can get shit done. I think Doctor Karam thinks you’d be a great fit. It would be a great step up in your career.”

“C’mon, Sammy. I’ve had enough of parachuting into crappy places all over the world. I’m ready to stay put for a while. Not to mention we’re gonna be in the same place at the same time for the first time in a long time. You and me raising hell and looking fabulous doing it. Just like old times.”

Sam hesitated, dropped his eyes to his mug and Dean’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“About that, Dean.” Sam took a deep breath. “The firm has an opening in the DC office. It’s better pay and it would open up some really cool opportunities for me.”

“So that’s why you’re so eager to get rid of me.” He lifted his leg and pivoted off the bench. “I need some fresh air.”

“Dean, c’mon, man, that’s not fair,” he heard Sam start but Dean was already walking away. He drained the last of the coffee in his cup, dropped it in the bin strapped to the compost bin (of course these freaking hippies had a compost bin) and wrenched open the mess door. He made his way to the end of the hall and then out under the awning. Small blessing there wasn’t a lot of wind.

He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and leaned against the bulkhead while he held the tip to his zippo flame. He’d promised Sam and Uncle Bobby he’d quit, but quitting was a process and the other coping option of a beer would mean heading back into the galley and Sam’s disapproval.

Goddamn genius brothers. Kid couldn’t leave well enough alone. Couldn’t be happy with what he had which was already lightyears more than any Winchester had ever had before. Couldn’t resist one more rung on the ladder. The chance to get away from Dean again probably made the opportunity all the sweeter. He’d probably been spending the last few weeks looking for any bone he could throw to Dean to make it seem like it wasn’t all just about avoiding his broken loser older brother.

The glow of the cigarette was a mocking reminder of the cold outside. Dean took a long drag, held the smoke in his lungs, and then let it out in a long slow stream. He scrubbed his hand over his face and tried not to feel the dual cold of the weather and the steel bulkhead behind him leaching through his clothes. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and repeated the earlier drag. He could at least be grateful there wasn’t any wind.

Dean continued to smoke, listening to the raindrops clatter off the awning when he something stole his attention. He stilled, suddenly hyper aware, not sure what had interrupted his pity party when deep jingle and clank sounded over a gap in the rain. The clank came again from around the corner followed by a thud, a grunt, and then a splash. Dean pushed away from the wall bulkhead behind him and headed around the corner to the sound. As he made his way there was another clank and then a thud again, followed by another.

Dean stopped at the top of the stairs leading down to the stern deck, feeling the cigarette drop from his suddenly gaping mouth.

There, in the pouring rain, slumped on the deck, a smaller form clasped in his arms, blue eyes boring into Dean’s soul, was a selkie.

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Let The Flames Begin (Chapter 6)

Daryl watched on mortified, struggling against the hold someone had on him as his eyes were glued on Charlene. The strong arms that held him back prevented him from going to her, helping her as the man stood behind her dragged the blade through her neck, slicing it wide open like a hot knife through butter. The blood spurted anywhere and he cried out, thrashing wildly against his restraints as the girl fell to her knees, unable to breathe as she grasped at her bleeding neck. Finally, the arms holding him let him free and he dove at her, his large hands coming to try and cover the wound, feeling sick at how her warm blood oozed through his fingers.

“No...please no!” he begged brokenly, tears streaming down his face as he tried so hard to stop the bleeding. Her gasping stopped as he looked into her eyes like a scared child, watching as she blinked at him slowly.

“This is all your fault, Daryl,” she whispered, the voice echoing in his mind as his heart constricted painfully.

Daryl gasped as he shot up on bed, his chest heaving as his dream played on a loop in his mind, taunting him, making him feel sick. He looked beside him to notice an empty bed and his heart stilled, fear gripping him as he jumped out of bed, looking around frantically.

“Charlene?!” he called out, his voice bordering desperate while he ran to the bathroom. The room was empty though and so was Merles room.

“Charlene?!” he called out again, his fear mounting by the second. Be burst out of the front door, only in his vest and jeans, but he stopped still when he saw the girl with Merle outside. His shoulders slumped and he fought the choked sob that was trying to claw its way out, the relief seeping into his bones. She was okay, she was with Merle and she was most definitely alive.

“The fuck Daryl? Ya look like ya about ready to shit ya pants,” Merle cackled as he looked over at him, trying to mask his concern at seeing his brother in such a state. Daryl swallowed thickly, willing the lump away in his throat as he cleared it. As usual, his temper flared, whenever he couldn't get a grip on his negative emotions they morphed into anger, it was just part of being a damn Dixon. He stormed over to the girl with a face like thunder and her eyes widened, stumbling back and almost falling over Merle in the process.

“The hell ya doin’ out here huh?! I told ya last night ya ain't goin’ nowhere without me, ya fuckin’ deaf girl?!” he snarled, unable to quell the fear and rage pulsing through his veins.

“Easy baby brother,” he heard Merle's warning tone from next to them, feeling him grab his arm and move him away a little, coaxing him away from her. Daryl shot a glare his way then and Merle's face was stern.

Daryl glared at him, jaw set and his nostrils flaring.

“I brought her out here because she had a nightmare. If ya wanna blame anyone, blame me,” Merle said firmly. But there were things his brother didn't say, things he conveyed through a look alone that made Daryl swallow thickly. The look that told him to reign it the fuck in, that he was digging himself a hole and he needed to stop before he dug his own grave. Daryl's eyes flit to the girl then, watching how she glared at the floor, her hands trembling as she toyed with the knife in her hands, one Merle must have given her. He wondered just what the fuck they were doing out here. But he felt it. The guilt, on top of the rage and the fear, because it wasn’t like he e-fuckin’-nough on his plate right now. What's one more negative emotion?

He couldn't bring himself to apologise to her, to make himself look like a fucking pussy with no conviction, even if he had upset her. Stubborn was in his nature just like his brother and Merle rolled his eyes, knowing his brother wouldn't say a damn thing to make this better.

“I’m goin’ for a piss,” Daryl huffed, but as he took a step back, closer to his brother, his eyes hardened and his voice dropped to a growl.

“Ya better make sure she's safe out here,” with that, he was storming inside and slamming the door behind him, making Charlene jump. Merle watched her a moment, seeing how her hands shook badly as she glared at the floor. He heaved a sigh and shook his head.

“He ain't mean nothin’ by it girlie, he’s just worried is all,” he mused, eyes wandering back to the door where his brother had just been. He had a fleeting thought that maybe it ran deeper than it seemed but he knew better than to go there.

She nodded, the movement a little jerky as she tried to quell the panic rushing around her body. After the night before, she was on edge, easier to scare it seemed. Her hand was clutching the knife so hard her knuckles were turning white.

“We done for now?” Merle asked, knowing the answer already. He had been showing her how to properly hold a knife, and just where to strike if the need came back up for her to get the fuck out of sticky situations. She nodded again, unable to even find her voice and Merle sighed once more. He wanted to clip his brother around his damn ear. He understood after what happened that he was worried. Merle was woken up by her frantic pleas in her sleep and it concerned him. He figured showing her ways to defend herself might ease her worries, so that's why he brought her out here. It seemed to be working, watching her relax a little before his damn brother had to show up and run his mouth off. And here Merle was thinking he was the asshole out of them both. Merle wiped a hand over his face wearily as she handed the knife back to him and he watched her trudge off back inside.

“Way to fuck shit up baby brother,” he sighed, shaking his head.

Daryl was sat at the dining table, his fist balled up on the table as he clenched and unclenched them like it would somehow ease the tightness in his chest. Charlene walked in and he glanced over to her, watching how she averted her eyes and wouldn't look at him, scurrying off to the sink to wash her hands. Great, now she’s scared of me. He inhaled a deep breath, she had no reason to be scared of him, he wanted to keep her safe. He watched her carefully as she stood at the sink, cleaning her hands before she turned around and wiped them on her jeans.

“Sit down,” he said, a little gruffer than intended, but she obeyed anyway, sitting opposite him. He didn't take his eyes off her as she toyed with her hands, her eyes darting anywhere but at him.

“Look, I didn't mean to shout alright? I just...woke up and ya weren't there and I panicked,” he admitted reluctantly, watching as her green eyes finally landed on him. He felt like he stopped breathing for a minute. She looked at him, noticing his was brow furrowed. He looked exhausted, and whilst she didn't appreciate his attitude earlier, she understood tensions were high after what happened. They had all been in danger and both he and his brother had murdered three men in order to keep them all safe. It was a tense situation and she knew she wasn't the only one dealing with shit. She didn't know what to say. She didn't want to say it was okay because it wasn't. He shouldn't have shouted at her like that, especially knowing what she had been through. It wasn't okay for him to act like Merle, she thought Daryl knew better than that. But at the same time, she didn't want to say something to make him feel worse, seeing the worry and guilt all over his usually stoic face.

Silence descended on them and it was making Daryl's skin crawl. He knew he had messed up and it felt like the lack of words from the girl was suffocating him. Merle walked in and Daryl didn't think he’d ever been so relieved to see his damn brother. A distraction, a chance to change the fucking subject.

“We ain’t as safe as we thought out here,” he said gruffly, missing how Charlene tensed at that realisation, blinking at him as he looked at his brother.

“I know. The wire might keep those biters out, but it sure as fuck does nothin’ for the livin’,” Merle huffed, joining them at the table, his face serious. They were silent for a moment as the girl looked from one to another, watching the cogs in their minds turning before Merle looked back at Daryl.

“Ya thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’ little brother?” he asked, a sly smirk creeping onto his face.

“Yeah,” Daryl rasped with a nod. Charlene had no idea what they were thinking but didn't bring herself to ask.

A few hours later and she was sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her as she watched the brothers at work at the table. They were making some sort of traps or snares, or something. She had no idea what they were and she had a feeling they weren't so much for the animals that might come around here. They were creative, smarter than she thought they were as they made the traps out of trash they had found out back and odd ends and bits they found around the cabin. Once they were done, Merle went out to set them around the fence, not even needing to talk to his brother to know he had no intentions of leaving her alone in the cabin.

That night, Daryl lay on his back in bed, the girl lay facing away from him. They hadn’t spoken much since earlier and he regretted his outburst, regretting his temper. He couldn't sleep. What happened to her was god awful but his dream had been his worst nightmare and just the thought of reliving that made bile rise to his throat. Apparently, she was having the same issue as he heard her huff an irritated sigh and she rolled over facing him. He glanced over to her and she looked up at him, her green eyes shining through the darkness at him. They just watched each other for a second as he felt his heart rate pick up before he looked away, unable to stand her looking at him so openly like that.

“Ya need sleep,” he huffed, needing to just say anything to break the tense silence between them.

“I’m scared,” she admitted with a sigh, hating how weak she felt after what happened, how rattle it had got her.

Daryl chewed his lower lip, he didn't like that she was scared, she didn't need to be.

“Don't have to be, I’m here,” he rasped into the darkness, voicing his thoughts. His words did ease her a little. He was there and he did make her feel safe. He had burst into the cabin like the Kool-aid guy at the right time and God knows what would have happened to her and Merle if he hadn't. But that did little to ease her fear of sleeping, where he wasn't there to save her from her own brain. She scooted a little closer, laying her cheek against his muscular arm. He tensed up but said nothing, laying stock still as he held his breath. She breathed him in, letting his scent soothe her, like a security blanket, easing her nerves.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, she was barely touching him, but it had been that long since he had any contact at all, he felt like he was drowning in it. The silence came back and he was sure she could hear his heart beating so hard in his chest, like a wild hummingbird trying to escape.

“I caught a deer that night,” he muttered, unsure why he was telling her since it didn't matter anymore, but the words came out all the same. She turned her big eyes up to him then and he swallowed thickly, looking away.

“You did?” she smiled, making his heart twinge, she sounded almost proud and it made him feel all kinds of things.

“Yeah, had to leave it behind though,” he sighed, remembering how he had to toss their potential food to run and save them. It was worth it though, he would have chopped off one of his own damn legs if it meant he would save her.

“Do you think it's still out there?” she asked curiously, moving away a little to lay her head back on the pillow looking at him. His arm felt cold immediately and he hated the loss of the feeling.

“Could be, if the biters ain't got to it yet,” he mumbled, trying to clear his head from the fog she seemed to have him in. She was so fucking close to him that he could smell her sweet scent and he felt like his throat was closing up.

“Maybe you could check tomorrow, take me with you?” she asked hopefully. She thought the cabin was safe so she hadn't had any desire to leave before now, but she wasn't so sure now she was any safer inside of here. He hummed, thinking about it. He wasn't sure if he wanted her out there but he was thinking just as she was, how in here wasn't that safe anymore either. He had been stupid thinking it was in the first place. His brother hadn’t lied about how people had turned into the worst versions of themselves these days.

Silence overcame them but this time it felt lighter, not awkward like before. After a moment he glanced over, seeing her eyes shut as her breathing evened out as she slept, so fucking close to him that if he moved he’d end up touching her. So he stayed dead still, closing his own eyes and letting her scent overtake his nostrils. He couldn't even pinpoint just what she smelt like. Like a meadow? He didn't fucking know. But it was calming his shot nerves and he felt himself slipping off into a deep sleep.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend

[orientalonehphm]

The End of the Mystery: Part 5 - The Battle by the Burning Pitch

Summary: The gang hold off Voldemort’s army as they try to enter through the Quidditch Gate but it’ll take a lot to discourage the Hogwarts Mystery Gang!

Notes: I wrote the battle scene in one part initially but it got too long so I split it up into two parts, here’s the first. It paces a lot better now. 

A soft breeze blew through the cold night sky, the blades of grass swayed peacefully on the ground. The flaming remains of the quidditch pitch in the distance crackled quietly outside the barrier. The blue flashes of the shield decorated the sky above as the evil army bombarded it with spells. The orange and silvery blue hue from the quidditch pitch and shield illuminated the restless figures pacing on the outskirts of the protection.

"That's a lot of snatchers..." Ben gulped softly, his forehead shone with sweat. He stood behind Bill, fidgeting with his wand. The ginger curse breaker stood tall, scanning the land around them.

"We got some of Sprout's defenses scattered around, Andre's flight team and a few students back by the wall. If we keep them in front of us, we won't get overwhelmed" He spoke out loud to the group around him, their gaze fixated on the large group of attackers in front of them. Bill looked around at the empty stares of his friends and the students that volunteered to fight. "Guys it'll be okay. Just...watch each other's backs and stay sharp." He took in a deep breath. "We can do this..." Fleur took his hand, squeezing it softly as he looked down at her. He forced a sheepish smile through his worried face.

"It's pretty..." Tulip looked at the alight quidditch pitch, the radiating fire danced and swirled against the thick black smoke that filled the night sky. "Yet sad..." she whispered, Penny looked from her to the quidditch pitch.

"It is" She spoke softly. "Remember the final match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in fifth year? Charlie almost had the snitch when a bludger broke his broom, he crashed right into the Slytherin stands" Y/N nodded.

"He landed right on Merula, she would have hexed him if his leg wasn't broken" They smiled warmly and shook their head, remembering how impulsive their rival was.

"He was bed ridden for days" Penny spoke again, everyone's gaze still fixated on the forces ahead. "Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to let us stay with him for one night. We ate sweets and listened to the radio all night." The hufflepuff blonde giggled softly. "Bill never left his side"

"Of course. He's my brother, I'd do anything for Charlie" The curse breaker spoke, his voice low but stern. Y/N looked up, the faint twinkling of stars scattered the Scottish sky. Their eyes glittered from the flashes of the spells trying to break down the shield.

"Jacob" Memories of their absent brother flashed through their mind. Every year at Hogwarts. The mystery of the cursed vaults. The mystery of Jacob. Time spent trying to find him, to be with him. Long abandoned. "Where are you?" The question ringed through their head, the same question they've asked every day. A thud nearby and the sound of footsteps brought Y/N back to reality. Andre walked over to Bill, broom in hand.

"We got snatchers and death eaters, we knew that, but I also saw a few giants. We're in for a fight Bill" the Ravenclaw seeker reported.

"Giants?!" Ben exclaimed, his face filled with nervousness.

"They're not that tough" Tulip stated, trying to comfort the cowardly Gryffindor. Suddenly a loud crack rang through the air, echoing in their ears. A bright explosion filled the sky as the shield cracked and shattered. Glowing dust floated down before disappearing completely. The gang looked up in surprise before looking back to the evil army in front of them. They watched as one of the snatchers creeped towards them, wary about coming closer. After a few steps, he looked back to his fellow allies. They all started to grin madly and loud howls and laughs resonated through the air. With a loud cry, the army started charging towards the gate, running past the quidditch pitch. The fire illuminating their crazy eyes.

"This is it everyone. It's going to be tough but I know you can do it. You're some of the bravest and most talented wizards and witches I know, and together we can do this." The group watched as a couple of snatchers got trapped in devil's snare, pinning them to the ground. The army continued charging. "Keep them in front of you, take them out hard and fast. Watch each other's back and remember what you're fighting for. We fight for Dumbledore, we fight for Harry, we fight for our school" Bill stood tall as he drew his wand, brandishing the weapon to his side. Rowan straightened the glasses on their face, their wand poised and ready. Ben hunched down, holding his wand tightly, as he readied himself for the fight ahead. Barnaby tucked Barnaby Junior down into his pocket and he readied his wand, remembering his effective dueling stance. Andre mounted his broom, hovering a few feet above the ground, his wand in hand. Tulip cracked her knuckles, a wild smirk on her face. Penny moved the goggles on her forehead down over her eyes. The black lenses shone from the fiery landscape. She confidently smiled as she wielded her wand in one hand and a potion in the other. Y/N raised their wand, the tip pointing upwards as they readied their other hand in front of them, prepared to cast against the dark forces. Fleur equipped her wand and stood by her ginger husband.

"Wonderful speech, my love" She whispered to him.

"Thank you dear, I practiced it on the way over" He flashed her a cheeky smile before returning his gaze to the charging force in front of him. He raised his wand. "FOR HOGWARTS!"

"FOR HOGWARTS!" His friends and the students around him cried out as they charged forwards. Andre swiftly shot into the air, followed by four students, joining the charge from above. As the two opposing forces ran at each other, spells flew overhead as the onslaught began. The wizards and witches deflected and shielded themselves from incoming spells as they continued to run. With a roar the two groups collided. Bill rushed forwards to the snatcher in front, punching him square in the face before shooting spells at the others behind him.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Fleur bonded the knocked down man before he could get up. She quickly cast protego as a hex flew towards her, Bill turned and quickly disarmed her attacker with a quick expelliarmus. The married couple swiftly stood back to back and continued to fend off the attackers. Ben scanned the battlefield as the wizards and witches clashed. His hand shook in fear. Suddenly a flash of light burst towards him. The scared man quickly flicked his wand as he deflected the incoming spell.

"Argh!" Ben fell over as another spell whizzed past his head. The blonde Gryffindor coughed as the wind was knocked out of him. A death eater apparated next to him, his wand pointed at him. "Oh Merlin!" Just as the death eater was about to flick his wand, he was knocked off his feet as the ground beneath him exploded. Ben looked up and saw the Pride of Portee emblem swooping past him. Andre scanned the skirmish below him, duels occurring all over the battlefield, he quickly spotted a large cluster of snatchers.

"Large group. 3 o'clock!" He called out behind him. Two students flew behind him as they dove down towards the crowd. The snatchers below were laughing and firing curses, pinning down a couple of students. "Confringo!" The gang of snatchers were blown aside as Andre and his team bombarded the ground beneath them. Dirt and stone flew up into the air as the curses made contact, cries of anguish ringed through the air as some of the opposing forces were weakened.

"Yeah! Go Andre!" Tulip whooped from below as Andre and his squad continued their bombing runs.

"Avada Kedavra!" The red-headed Ravenclaw quickly rolled out of the way as the killing curse flew past her. She quickly located the source of the spell and pointed her wand at the enraged death eater.

"Stupefy!" With a flash of blue the attacker was knocked over, an audible groan escaped his mouth as he hit the ground.

"Expelliarmus!" Tulip's wand flew out of her hand and onto the ground nearby. She turned to see another death eater, their wand pointed at her. "Hello girlie" The red-head gulped as a cheeky grin formed on the man's face.

"TULIP!" The two of them turned in time to see Y/N roll onto Tulip's wand, grabbing it in their other hand before rolling into a crouched position. They stopped with their wand and Tulip's wand pointed at the death eater. "Depulso!" With a large flash of red, the enemy flew through the air and into two snatchers, who were caught off guard. Y/N ran over to Tulip, quickly throwing her wand to her.

"Thanks Y/N"

"Don't mention it"

"Whoa!" The two were quickly interrupted as they saw Rowan's wand fly through the air. The bookworm seemed to be facing off against a snatcher who had just disarmed them. Before Y/N, Tulip or the snatcher could react, Rowan flicked their hand towards their enemy.

"Flipendo!" With a bang, the snatcher flew backwards, thudding to the ground. Tulip quickly ran over and kicked their wand from their hand, while they lay still on the ground.

"Wow Rowan that was amazing!" Y/N complimented.

"Being at Uagadou has taught me a thing or two, including casting without my wand" Rowan flashed Y/N a grin as they were handed their wand back. Meanwhile, Penny held up the head of a fallen student as she poured a green liquid into his mouth. The student began to stir as the Wiggenweld potion took affect.

"Get him back to the gates, you two can join the defense from back there" another boy quickly supported the injured one as they limped back towards the castle. Penny replenished her belt as a group of snatchers spotted her. She scanned them through her dark goggles. They cackled loudly as they surrounded her, their wands aimed at the blonde Hufflepuff who stood confidently. With a whoosh from above, three vials fell from the sky, smashing either onto the ground nearby or onto the snatchers. A dark purple smoke began to fill the area as Penny'a adversaries began to panic.

"Night night" The blonde potioneer brought a handkerchief up to her mouth and nose as she gave a small wave to one of the snatchers. Their eyelids quickly closed as they fell over, their bodies lying scattered on the ground, a deep sleep falling over them all. Penny looked up at Andre and the students behind him, giving him a thumbs up. He returned the gesture before flying off again.

"Hey!" Penny turned to see another snatcher, one who was much larger than the others. He held a snapped wand in his wand which he angrily threw to one side. He was quite muscular, his bald head shone slightly as he cracked his knuckles. "Those were my friends!" With a cry of fury, he began running towards the pretty Hufflepuff. Penny smirked. She drew out a turquoise potion from her belt. She popped off the cap and quickly drank the brew. Wiping her mouth, the potioneer felt a burning sensation in her muscles. With a look of determination, Penny began running head first towards the large snatcher. They stared daggers at each other as they charged closer and closer and closer. In one swift move, Penny jumped up, her fist connecting with the snatcher's lower jaw. With a groan, the big man flew backwards in the air and landed with a thud, a few feet away. The Hufflepuff landed gracefully, a cheeky smirk on her face as she blew her knuckle. She looked to the side where a few snatchers stared at her in fear.

"Boo" With a yelp they ran away, almost tripping over each other. Penny smiled confidently before she dived back into the fight. Unbeknownst to the defenders of Hogwarts, a large figure stomped onto the battlefield. The large creature huffed, its hot breath hung in the air. Two death eaters, a man and a woman, stood confidently in front of the creature. They smirked evilly at the fight before them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fire crackled quietly as the fireplace barely lit the dim room. Tonks sat in the comfy chair by the fire, holding her infant son. Little babbles from Teddy made the metamorphmagus look down, she smiled softly and bounced him lightly. Her gaze returned to the orange blaze, the light illuminated her eyes. She felt warm with the wood burning in front of her, the blanket over her lap and the small infant in her arms. She stared off into the distance, out the window, looking at the bright moon that shone in the dark night sky. Her mind was miles away. Thoughts flashed through her head. 

“The battle would’ve started by now” She couldn’t stop herself from thinking of all the ways her dear beloved husband could die. “He could be crushed. Or cursed. Or...or...” A loud snap ringed through her ears as the wood in the fireplace was cracked by the heat. She looked down at her small child again who looked up at her with big curious eyes. 

“I’m sorry Teddy”

Part 4 <- -> Part 6 (Coming Soon)

[darkspear-panther]

Kij’aza: Day 26

The inquirer grinned, her smug face rubbing the huntress the wrong way. 

“What es et?” She glared at the other woman. 

The inquirer smirked. “What’s what?”

“Dat look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She leaned over the desk, taking out the paper and handing it over to Kij. “But you will soon.”

Kij’aza looked over the paper, recognizing some of the questions from before. 

“Go to number 26. It’s a goodie.”

When and with whom was your first kiss?

The huntress slammed the paper down on the clean desk at the sight of the words. “Nah.”

The inquirer hummed. “Hmmm, yes.”

“Nevah!”

“Oh come on.” The inquirer chided. “It’s just the two of us. A secret between friends.”

Kij’aza narrowed her eyes, looking up to the camera in the corner beforee glaring back down to the pen in the other’s hand. “Doubt et.”

“You don’t trust me?”

The huntress shook her head. “Not en da slightest.”

“I didn’t think your first kiss was that bad...”

“Not really...” The huntress grumbled, realizing she had just slipped up. “Damn ya, makin’ me talk.”

The other woman smirked. “I know.”

“Well,” Kij’aza ignored, continuing her conversation. “Et was wit dis girlie: Eshu’ra. Didn’t know ‘er ta well before, only seein’ ‘er when I was en da village wit Pa. But somehow, dat girlie got a crush on me!”

She grinned coyly at the memory. “She was a shy girlie dough, constantly ‘iding away. Didn’t dink much o’ et, ‘til one day when she talked ta me. Apparently, one o’ ‘er friends ‘elped her muster up some balls ta ask me out. Wanted ta take me down by da sea. Bein’ da lil’ an’ foolish girlie I was, I agreed for dat very night. 

“Wouldn’t ‘ave been bad, but I ‘ad ta sneak away from da ‘ouse. Et was on da outskirts o’ da village, en da most remote place from da ocean. I waited ‘til Ma and Pa were sleepin’ an’ da twins were out doin’ loa-knows-what. 

“Den, I ran as fast as I could ta da sea. Eshu’ra ‘ad made a good meal dere, but et was freezing cold by da time I got dere. So we decided to run enta da sea, just ta swim wit eachoder.

“I left a few ‘ours latah, all soakin’ from da waves an’ sore from da crabs an’ jellies.” The huntress lowered her head, trying to hide the blush forming on her cheeks. “Was just grabbin’ my spear when she kissed my oder hand! Said et was for da trip ‘ome!”

The huntress chuckled. “Ya know, for a shy girlie, she was brave dat night. Talkin’ ‘bout ‘ow much she liked me and dings. So I dove en ta kiss ‘er cheek. But she wasn’t ready for et, so she tried ta dodge et. Ta late a realization dough, because my lips met ‘ers!

“Aftah dat, I could ‘ave cooked anoder meal for us from da ‘eat o’ ‘er face. Eshu ran off soon aftah she realized what ‘appened. Didn’t even see ‘er again for weeks, when we got tagether ta celebrate ‘er adulthood. Would ‘ave been 17 den, wit me bein’ a few months oldah.”

[istrys]

Memories of a Requiem Pt 3

Whitstan opened his eyes to darkness.

 It was a colorless void, shapeless and stretching infinitely outward in every direction. The cage he found himself in was confining and cold, swinging gently from a chain too long to fathom. The Writhing Watcher was nowhere to be found, but he knew they must have locked him up in here. Off in the distance a shimmering light filtered through the abyss like moonlight through the surface of the sea. It wasn’t particularly beautiful nor interesting, but it was the only thing he could pay attention to in this prison.

 … Whitstan…

 His ears perked up to the familiar voice, but it was too distant and faint to ascertain whose it was. He sat upright and placed both of his hands against the bars, straining to focus and listen should his name be called again.

 … Whitstan…!

 It belonged to Syrahn. Whitstan could no longer differentiate his dreams, his memories, and reality, and the urgency in her voice did not put him at ease.

 Whitstan!

 What was once a soft light shimmering from above the sea brightened into a harsh beam, reflecting off the numerous facets of the cage to be redirected into Whitstan’s face.

 WHITSTAN!

 Although he was blinded by the light, he could feel the cage beneath his bare feet nearly burst into flame. Before he could cry out in pain, his prison shattered, sending him in freefall. As the metal that once held him aloft turned to ash and cinders, the former Breaker no longer had anything to cling to while he plummeted away from the searing beam of light and back into the darkness.

Whitstan opened his eyes to the ocean, with the familiar cawing of seagulls riding the wind’s current overhead. The water splashing against his body was fairly cold, and the jagged rock he was laying on was almost consumed by the sea. Whitstan recognized this place almost instantly; this was Gilneas.

He drew a breath. Another desperate gasp followed. His lungs felt like they were on fire being used for the very first time. Confusion and desperation overcame him as he clung to the rock the endless waves beat him against. Cold was another sensation he had forgotten as he begun to shiver violently. He was able to pull himself atop the rock that strutted out from within the water. He barely brought himself up to his feet on top of the set of stones he had washed up on.

 He looked around for a long moment, wondering what caused him to end up there. The confusion began to overwhelm him before the familiar sound of metal clashing against metal drew his attention. His eyes focused off into the distance as he saw two figures caught in a violent duet of life or death. The metal sang and the air exploded as their runeblades met. He could almost remember one of the figures. “... Rethandus…” he uttered as he watched him barely hold his own against his overwhelming opponent. He seemed much less experienced and pressured in battle. He had given into his rage and continued to swing blindly with all the hatred he could muster.

 Parry after parry, the dark figure possessing but a single runesword seemed to trivialize Rethandus’ assault and eventually buried its runesword within the rage-consumed Death Knight. A familiar voice rang in his head as it pounded against every sense he possessed, “Better luck next time.” it spoke with a dark echo that reached across, disregarding the distance as the words boomed in his mind.

 A smile wore on its dark features as it kicked Rethandus’ impaled body away from its runeblade. Whitstan focused his eyes as best as he could, staring at the figure to make out the details hidden to him through his memory. A pale color returned to the figure’s flesh and a familiar tabard shifted into sight.

 He stared with disbelief as he saw himself. A dark version of himself moving to finish off someone who had earned a modicum of his respect. Rethandus dived to roll away from the final slash meant to finish him off and dashed toward the cliff’s edge to dive into the water. The dark figure approached and looked down, a smirk apparent on his lips. The fleeing Knight was too weak to appear as a threat, and clearly not worth the effort of swimming after. Victory was had here. This image of his own sadistic self continued to watch the water beating against the cliffside before it paused and shifted its gaze to him. Whitstan stared and watched his own self looking down at him with a malicious gaze.

A raspy voice escaped with a nightmarish tone. “We. Found. You.” His eyes widened the moment a part of him realized the situation he was trapped in. A semblance of sanity touched him as he remembered he was trying to overcome the dark figure that kept haunting him as he traversed through his memories. He understood a part of this picture painted before him, it wasn’t exactly reality but the vision he saw of himself rang true as real while the vision before him sank in. This was him before he was affected by the Shadow Priest, Artemisia. She given her life to fracture his memories, but perhaps she had gone further than just to break his mind. Regardless of her intent, one thing was abundantly clear to Whitstan now; it was time to leave.

 He dove into the ocean toward the beach, barely missing a few jagged rocks hidden beneath the tide. The former Breaker swam as hard and as fast as he could, convinced he may not simply be put in a cage like last time should the Writhing Watcher catch him. The moment his feet sank into the coarse grey sand he glanced over his shoulder to keep track of his predator, but the creature was gone. Confusion began to settle in while the memory remained intact, strangely unaffected by the shadowy aberration like last time. “Forget. Forever.”

 Whitstan instinctively ducked in response, barely avoiding the dripping hands of the Writhing Watcher that reappeared behind him. The blighted teeth from its extending reach quivered and grew, pointing toward the former Breaker with murderous intent. He took the first opening he could to escape, rolling out of the way of another attack to make a mad dash along the coast. Much to his relief his pursuer wasn’t particularly fast, but it waved him over with a disturbingly welcoming hug. An opening deeper into the mainland was an easy choice to make, stirring the Death Knight to sprint up into the dead wood in an effort to completely lose his attacker.

 “He’s getting closer.” Syrahn spoke softly, clearly becoming exhausted. “Yes… I think he’s almost there.”

 “Almost to what?” Istrys asked, shooting Ijiro a confused glance. “Certain death? All of his lost memories? Some sort of divine ascendance?”

 “I’m pretty sure she means the second one, yeah?” The Hunter narrowed his eyes at the Necromancer, who gave him a half-hearted shrug in return. “Just keep him anchored, girly. Hopefully this’ll all be over before supper.”

 “I’m not too sure…” The Priestess whispered to herself, catching the attention of the other two; she was more or less just thinking out loud, but the longer she held his mind steady with such sinister Shadow Magic, the less confident she became. She traversed in unfamiliar territory, and if the worst case scenario occurs, she’ll end up either turning Whitstan into a mindless husk, or kill him outright.

 Whitstan walked for miles, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being followed. He was certain this was now supposed to be southern Silverpine, but the complete lack of wildlife, and a beaten path, kept him guessing. Tiny droplets of water struck Whitstan’s shoulders and forehead, and before he knew it, he was caught in a heavy downpour. The sound of a nearby battle caught his attention and hastened his steps. Although he had been walking for what felt like hours, the promise of another memory compelled him to move forward.

 All he witnessed was death. Soldiers of every Horde race clashed with the damned, as several frostwyrms chased a netherdrake far above the battle. Felfire rained down on several soldiers that were pinned and trapped beneath the corpse of an undead giant, and the maniacal laughter bellowing from the elven witch could only belong to one woman; Doni’terian. Whitstan found himself bound to a mortal shell he could not break free from. “Kill them all.” he simply commanded. The words escaped his lips as he struggled intensely to find the reasons behind his calculated outburst. A surge of verdant flame washed over the survivors while they shouted in agony, sent writhing in the dirt shortly before they collapsed. Doni’terian continued her cruel laughter, letting her chaos bolts hiss through the air to pierce the retreating foes. Watching her rip the souls from their bodies was a grim sight to behold, for it was clear these brave men and women posed little threat to the empowered witch.

Off in the distance half of a body was sent flying through the air. A hulking worgen three times as tall as any mortal man tore through their ranks like a blade through grass; it was none other than Nightcloud, the feral worgen that was once in Whitstan’s servitude. The former Breaker paid little attention to the monster, letting him sate his bloodlust. The shadows of the battle in the sky caught his attention, causing him to glance up just in time to see the Val’kyr bound to his will tear the wings off the netherdrake like a child plucking petals off a flower. This was his moment of triumph. The Bloodsworn Vanguard was meeting its first major defeat, and the undead forces under his command suffered insignificant losses; from here it was just a brief walk into the Plaguelands, where the cowards were no doubt awaiting their doom. All of his surviving enemies were on the run, abandoning their dead and dying to save their own skins. Whitstan felt excitement surge through his body once he vividly remembered this crowning moment. “Advance!” he shouted, waving his hand as he began the long march. With his feral beast brought to heel and his faithful sorceress at his side, the former Breaker felt invincible.

 His eyes shot open as his body settled. He laid still for the longest time before looking about to the allies who held him in place long enough to re-establish his sanity. He paused before looking toward the cell door, where Rethandus was no doubt behind. “I suppose we could have been better friends… but I know now why you hated me so.” he whispered out.

 “You’re back!” Syrahn gasped out, removing her fingers from his temple; she couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice, but she didn’t care. At long last her task to restore his old memories was complete. “I… so you remember now…?”

 “Yes… I remember… everything.” he commented as he continued to scan the room. His eyes settled on Istrys as something else clawed at her mind. A slight whisper continued to scratch at the Necromancer as she focused. A smile grew on his lips. “... Not… im.” a voice whispered. Her satisfied smirk slowly faded the longer she looked into his eyes; something about his stare felt... unfamiliar.

 “It’s NOT HIM!” the voice continued to echo as it reached her ears. The spirit bound to his runeblade shouted as loudly as it could to grasp the attention of anyone else.

“Thank you…” he calmly responded, “...for releasing me.”

He shifted down the table to strike at Ijiro with a forceful kick, before dragging his hands along it while he turned to his stomach to regain balance. “JIRO!” Syrahn yelped while she staggered back, focusing her terrified gaze on her lover as he was slammed into the cell door. Several undead manifested themselves from the walls of the dungeon, clawing at anything they could reach all while struggling to free themselves. “The Amber Glade… it will be the first to fall.” his voice echoed while he continued to summon undead aberrations bound to his will. “And this is all thanks to you, Lady Bloodfeather. Choke on the ashes.” he commented before moving to incapacitate Istrys. The Necromancer raised her arms in defense, but without her runesword, there wasn’t much she could do in terms of combating this new menace. Whitstan’s hand shot through her defenses and caught her by the throat, instantly ripping the flailing woman off the ground to slam into the wall.

Rethandus came barreling into the cell like an enraged tauren, already drawing both of his runeswords to bury deep into Whitstan’s chest. “Don’t… you remember how this turned out the last time?” he responded after parrying the assault. His eyes settled on Rethandus’ chest before striking him with kick. The Harbinger was accustomed to Whitstan’s strength, but he was not prepared for that familiar force he lost to time and time again before; the Death Knight was sent airborne, slamming into the stone wall of the prison. Istrys did her best to break his arm, but her punches proved useless against his crushing might. Syrahn struggled against the ghouls that grabbed her by her arms and hair, panicking desperately to free herself in order to rush to Ijiro’s aid.

“Let’s play a game…” Whitstan commented as he held the Necromancer up by the throat. “All of you can fight for your lives… but only one of you will survive. Who lives and dies… it’s all up to you.” he said as a sinister smile overcame his expression. “Let the games… begin.” The Death Knight drew the runeblade across his back as he kept the weight stable across his shoulder. “Good luck.” He continued as he winked at the Necromancer he held by the throat, the impending threat of cutting her in half remained as he announced the challenge. A part of him knew that she proved the biggest threat and should be snuffed out immediately… and a part of her knew that the darkest part of Whitstan understood the true danger that she offered. The end of the game drew near as his gaze drew in toward the Necromancer while he grasped the hilt of his blade. “He cannot be stopped...” Vesk warned, causing the woman to grit her teeth. “We all may die down here tonight.”

[firefly-knights]

Fionna’s Adventures in Wonderland

Fionna wrinkled her nose as she peered over Prince Gumball's shoulder. Every time he turned a page, she'd peer over to see its contents. No illustrations. No conversations.

What a stupid book. It's not worth reading if there aren't any pictures or dialogue. At least, that's what Fionna thought. Apparently though, Prince Gumball didn't share her theory. He'd been bent over that old book for near two hours now and dare she say it, but Fionna was beginning to get bored.

She considered making a dandelion chain with the little flowers that sprung up around where she sat. She could even add a few of the fluffy white parts too- whatever those were called.

After a few minutes of braiding the stems together, however, Fionna was abruptly interrupted. A flash of blue and white blurred past, pausing a moment beside the hedge opposite where she and Prince Gumball sat. It was Ice Queen, Fionna realized with a start, dropping her six inch dandelion chain onto the skirt of her pale dress.

The white-haired woman glanced behind her before pulling out a golden pocket watch from the folds of her gown. It clicked open silently and Fionna observed the red crystal on its lid- one that perfectly matched Ice Queen's tiara she currently wore.

Sensing eyes on her, Ice Queen glanced up, catching Fionna's gaze. Swiftly she pocketed the watch again and just nearly dove into the hedge beside her.

Without a second thought, Fionna grabbed her green backpack and leaped after Ice Queen, following her through the brush that seemed to be deeper than Fionna had thought it would be. Once she broke free on the other side, she had no time to pause and be surprised by the grand castle in the distance nor the treetops that created a thick canopy below her before her foot slipped from the edge of the cliff and she began to fall.

Head over heels and heels over head she tumbled down the cliff side, her dress catching on twigs here and there before she finally somersaulted to a stop at the base of a giant mushroom. It loomed twenty feet above her head, the small accordion-like folds on the underside quivering.

Fionna blinked and then blinked once more. That tumble rather hurt, actually. Not to mention she'd landed on top of her backpack and crystal sword- not the softest cushions ever.

She pushed herself up, dusting her skirts to remove some of the dirt when a dusting of silver wafted down around her. The powder itched her nose and caused her to sneeze. Over and over. The mushroom had rained spores down on her, the tiny shiny specks clinging to her dress, hair and rabbit ears.

Fionna coughed, a cloud of silver spores escaping from her lips.

"Oh my glob, that is disgusting," an annoying voice spoke up from somewhere to Fionna's left. She turned and stared for a moment, not trying to be rude but merely surprised. Floating above a much smaller mushroom cap was a purple puff. Almost like a cloud, really, except he had eyes and hands, a mouth and a gold star upon his forehead.

"Excuse me?" Fionna retorted, slightly offended.

"I said that was disgusting. Anyway, who are you?" the sassy purple lump demanded rudely.

"I'm Fionna and you-"

"You may call me Lumpy Space Prince," the frumpy floater interrupted.

Fionna huffed, not much enjoying the supposed Prince's company. "Fine then. Now, where-"

"What are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, my glob! What are you?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand?" Fionna shifted, shrinking the slightest away and leaning lightly against the base of the giant mushroom. What a queer question.

"What is there to not understand? What is a simple enough word, is it not?"

"Well, yes, when you're not using it about me, but-"

"Well then, what are you?"

Fionna had just about enough of this Lumpy Space Prince's nonsense and was ready to end the conversation then and there. "Not saying."

"But, I must know! I can't stand not knowing what you are, even more-so than knowing who!"

What? Fionna's brain could hardly keep up with the Prince's words- words that weren't making much sense and so she marched away into the surrounding woods, her backpack slung over her shoulders once again.

Mushrooms, dandelions, clovers and ferns grew at unnatural heights throughout the woods, Fionna noted. Colors of all hues composed the landscape around her- red and blue mushroom caps, followed by orange and green furls of leaves, a bouquet of yellow blooms next to a cascade of dried purple stems. After being doused in mushroom spores thrice more, she decided that walking beneath the mushroom caps simply wasn't worth it. She would just have to avoid them, or at the very least walk around them.

After a while of simply walking, Fionna began to wonder where she was, and more importantly, where she was headed when she came upon a quaint leaf-covered path. Up the path a way she could just catch a glimpse of sunlight filtering in through the flora. A little clearing. In the middle of said clearing basked a content spotted cat, warm in the shaft of sunlight she'd found. The cat sprung to its feet, startled by Fionna's sudden presence, before she sat back on her hind quarters and gazed evenly at the girl. Then the cat grinned.

"Are you lost, bunny?" she purred softly, almost warmly. It was the kind of purr you'd imagine a cat using to greet a friend.

"Yeah... kind of. Which way should I go?" Fionna wondered.

The cat smiled a little wider, "That would depend."

"Depend? On what?"

"On where you want to be, sweetcheeks."

Fionna considered the cat's words. Where did she want to be? She wasn't sure. She'd followed Ice Queen into this mess of a world- Ice Queen!

"Do you know which way the Ice Queen went?" Fionna turned to face the spotted cat fully, a glimmer in her eye.

"Well, naturally. Girl, I get it, really. I get that you're new and all, but get with the program, hun. I'm Cheshire Cake, Queen of the Crossroads."

"Then why are you sitting in the middle of a clearing?"

Cake rolled her feline eyes and looked from left to right. "This clearing is the cross-road, girly. You and I are stood at the center of it."

For the first time since Fionna had entered the clearing, she actually stopped to look around. The grass clearing stretched about ten yards in any direction, and at the edges, the woods sprung up again. Every so often a pathway cut into the woods. Spinning in a circle, Fionna counted thirteen paths in all. Each looked the same as the next, but each was at the same time unique in their own way. Vines formed a net over the pathway of one, a log nestled across the pathway to opening left of it.

"Well, where did she go, then?"

Cake's Cheshire grin faltered slightly, her green eyes flickering behind her before she sighed. Nodding her head a little, she began to lead Fionna to a pathway lined with singed leaves. "This way," Cake prodded, settling down on a clump of clover. "Follow this path, it'll lead you to where you should go."

Fionna offered Cake a grateful smile before dashing onto the path. Footprints were singed into the fallen leaves and tea light candles left scorch marks upon the looming rocks that blocked the flames from the breeze that would otherwise put them out.

Step by step, the pathway slowly progressed into a set of stairs which started out spread out before quickly reverting into steeper stones that grew narrower and narrower still. Then suddenly the steps stopped. Fionna who had been looking at her feet for the last five minutes to make sure she didn't fall upon her face finally looked up only to lock eyes with a living flame.

He wore a white vest and trousers, his feet bare as were his arms. His skin glowed a brilliant orange and from the top of his head sprouted a flickering fire. Sat at a long table covered in burned baked goods, his eyes shone with annoyance, his fists gripping the armrests to his chair where the once smooth velvet was now charred. Beside him sat a doughnut, crispy around the edges, and next to the doughnut sat a small blue cube. The cube and Fionna's dress were the only cool colors in the room-

When had the path through the woods turned into a dank hallway? Fionna wondered. She hadn't realized until now as she took in her surroundings, but she was definitely no longer in the wilderness, surrounded by thriving plants. Instead, stone floors stretched further into the distance than the light illuminated- light that, she noted, appeared to emanate from the glowing boy sitting on his once lavish chair.

She pulled the bag from her shoulders that had started to get sore and set it next to the door. A cinnamon man materialized out of thin air beside her, surprising her as he slipped a white apron around her waist before blending back into the shadows.

"Are you the baker," the doughnut not so much asked as stated, catching the girl off guard.

"Baker? No, not really."

"What do you mean not really?" the doughnut questioned skeptically. The small blue box next to him beeped curiously, its lips pulling down into a subtle frown.

"I mean I don't really bake much. I'm not that great at it."

"Then why are you here?"

"Excuse me?" Fionna bit out, offended.

"Why are you here?"

"Because Cheshire Cake told me to-"

"Cheshire Cake? Is that what she told you to call her? Crazy cat..."

"Well, what else would I call her?"

"You're a strange girl," the flaming boy spoke up for the first time. He tilted his head to the right, his fiery hair persisting to keep straight to the world as he studied the bunny ears that sat atop Fionna's own head.

Fionna scoffed. "Excuse you! That's mean."

The flame boys eyes widened before narrowing again.

"Excuse yourself!" the doughnut yelled, outraged. "That's no way to talk to the Flame Prince!"

"Flame Prince?" Fionna repeated, looking back now to the orange boy. Sure enough, a red jewel glowed in the center of his forehead, much like the Ice Queen's own crown- Fionna's eyes widened as she remembered the reason why she was there. "Have you seen Ice Queen come this way?"

"Ice Queen?" Flame Prince muttered. "No, there has been no Ice Queen here. Ice is cold, and I am flame."

"Yes, your majesty, you are," the doughnut agreed.

"Then if she was here I would either melt her or she would put me out."

"Yes, sir, of course- what?" the doughnut nearly shrieked it was so startled. Fionna seemed to realize at last that this was not where she needed to be. Ice Queen was obviously not here, and perhaps she never had been here. Had the cat lied to Fionna back at the clearing?

Seeing Fionna glance at the bickering prince and doughnut once more, the little blue box plucked itself out of its chair and zipped over to her discarded backpack. It didn't really know Fionna well, but she seemed saner than the other two. Besides, the box was afraid it would short-circuit if it had to eat one more piece of burnt brownies. If only the duo had allowed it to bake in the first place. It was rather fond of baking.

Turning on her heel, Fionna picked her backpack from the ground and began to ascend the steep stairs. Only instead of the road flattening out like it should have, it began to spiral and grow steeper. Up, up, up she climbed before suddenly she stepped out into the sunlight once more.

It blinded her for a minute, and when she finally regained her sight she almost wished she could turn back around and descend again. She tried to, but she found the way blocked off by a stone wall. Fionna blinked.

Huh. Strange place. Turning back she looked around again only to find herself back in the clearing with the cat called Cheshire Cake.

Fionna looked around for a moment and then the stone wall was no longer there. Just thirteen lonely paths that wandered off into the woods.

"You lied, Cake," Fionna sighed and eyed the creature wearily. "You said that Ice Queen was that way but she wasn't."

Cake shook her head. "I never said you would find her there, girl. I told you it would lead you to where you should go."

"Lot of help that was," Fionna rolled her eyes, annoyed at the spotted feline. Getting an idea, she whirled around, her skirts following her fluidly. "Which way should I not go?"

Cake tilted her head, not quite understanding.

"Where should I not be? Where will you tell me not to go?"

Now a worried look flashed in Cake's eyes. "Don't go that way," she immediately responded, pointing with her front paw to a path that had a black iron gate. Green, black and blue colored the path beyond, the mushrooms pale and many of them white topped.

But Fionna just grinned, her bunny ears flouncing as she nodded her head. "Thank you!" she said and started towards the very gate.

"Hey! Wait! Why are you going that way?" Cake called out, running to catch up with the girl.

"Because," Fionna spared the spotted cat a glance, "you told me to follow the wrong path, therefore this path must be right."

Spinning on her heel, she nearly skipped through the black iron gate, leaving a frantic Cake behind her. The cat worried her lip for a few moments before exhaling slowly and gently stepping toward the path herself. "If she meets him it will be my fault. I'll have sent her straight to him. Catnip, Cake! You should've known she'd do that!"

Like mist, her white fur began to vanish, leaving a few brown spots and her worried face. Then as spot by spot began to disappear, all that remained were her dark cat eyes. They peered untrusting at the path beyond the gate before they closed and were gone.

Fionna didn't see why Cake wouldn't want her to come down this path- it seemed much lovelier than the others, and as the sun set slowly and the stars began to peek forth, everything seemed so much calmer. The breeze danced by, the cool tendrils flushing her cheeks as she inhaled the scent of roses it carried.

Roses...

As the path began to widen, she found the sides were lined with rosebushes. Beautiful, pure white roses. The blooms smiled up at her, displaying their glory in the untainted starlight. Here and there she found a light pink bloom among the rest, but then the hedge of roses appeared to suddenly turn bright, sinful red.

Fionna was so focused on the roses themselves she nearly ran over their caretaker, a peppermint fellow with a smoothed down suit jacket and a bucket of red liquid in one hand. With a start, she realized the reason these roses were red and the others weren't. He was painting them!

"Mr. Peppermint, what are you doing?"

"I'm painting the roses red!" he answered, not even sparing her a glance.

"But why?" she asked. "The white are so pretty-"

"The King wants them red."

"The king?"

"Yes, the King. And if the King wants them red, red they'll be, or else white I'll be," the peppermint paled slightly.

"White? What? I don't understand," Fionna murmured beyond confused.

"The King specifically told me to plant red roses, and these are quite obviously not red. So I'm painting them."

"I still don't get it."

"If they aren't red, I'll be in trouble! He'll have my red, instead!" the peppermint panicked, and began to paint faster, damaging a few of the blooms with his furious strokes.

"Careful!" Fionna warned, kneeling to pick up some of the damaged petals.

A trumpet sounded from a little ways off, catching the peppermint's attention immediately. He all but dropped his paint, scurrying up the path followed by a curious Fionna who was being tailed by a reluctantly curious invisible cat.

They came upon a wide courtyard, also lined with the rose bushes, ten other candy attendants stood about the edges as a tall, grey-skinned boy floated around the center fountain. His tailored suit fit him finely, his black hair and combed and mussed just enough to look collected yet effortless. A bite mark adorned the left side of his neck. He floated toward the rose hedge and leaned over to inspect them.

"Peppermint butler," his voice snapped calmly, turning his attention to the cowering creature nearby. Reaching his hand into the hedge, the vampire king pulled back a single white blossom. The peppermint butler paled slightly as the king stooped forward and looked straight into his eyes. "These roses aren't red, are they?"

"N-n-not that-t on-ne, s-s-sir, b-but most of the o-others ar-re," the peppermint gulped, his thin hands shaking by his sides.

The king narrowed his eyes, "I said red roses, not white! I might as well suck the red right out of you!"

"Please don't! Mercy!" the peppermint trembled, hiding his face with his hands.

With a shink, Fionna drew her crystal sword, standing before the frightened peppermint butler and before the smirking vampire king.

"Ah, Fionna the Human, is it?" he chuckled, his eyes soft at the edges as he beheld her in her slightly light blue dress and baker's apron. His eyes flickered to her bunny ears before gliding along her golden fringe. "I've heard of you."

With the king's attention on the girl, the peppermint butler took this as his chance to escape, skittering into the hedge as fast as his little legs could carry him.

"Y-you have?" Fionna cursed herself for stuttering. She never stuttered! She was a heroine, for glob's sake! Heroines don't stutter. Ever. And yet she did.

"Mm," he hummed, gliding around her in a circle, inching closer by the second before finally hovering just beside her. "But I must say, the stories don't do you justice."

Fionna's head felt rather light and she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because he was so close or maybe it was because of all the adrenaline pumping through her veins at that second- yeah, it was definitely the adrenaline.

"You just lost me my dinner," the vampire king continued, now in a normal voice. "Maybe I should suck the red out of you, instead."

"Fionna! Don't let him!" Cheshire Cake materialized on the girl's other side, her paws grabbing Fionna's skirt in an attempt to pull her away.

At the same time, Fionna felt her backpack jostle. Confused, she pulled it off her shoulders to find the little blue box from before poking its head out of the opening.

"Beemo?" Cake asked. "What are you doing here?"

Beemo simply beeped in reply before rummaging around in the bag some more and pulling out a small bag of fruit.

The king raised an eyebrow. "Strawberries? You're going to try buying me off with strawberries?"

Beemo waved the bag slightly and the king's face fell slightly before he snatched the bag. He opened it slowly and pulled a strawberry out, placing it between his fangs. Fionna watched as the strawberry turned snow white, the vampire king licking his lips as he finished sucking its red.

"Hmm," he hummed, looking at the little device that now sat in Cake's hands, "Maybe you win."

Just then Fionna heard a familiar cackle sound from somewhere behind her. Ice Queen stood laughing on a balcony across the courtyard, her eyes gazing coldly down at the scene that played before her.

"Are you following me, Fionna?" she taunted, before giggling once more and disappearing in the blink of an eye into the corridor beyond.

Fionna huffed and ran up the stairs to the french doors that opened up into the courtyard. They swung open as she swept the aside with her left arm, her crystal sword held firmly in her right hand and her backpack shifting against her shoulders as she ran.

But as she stepped into what was supposed to be a foyer, she felt nothing but grass beneath her feet and saw nothing but mushrooms, ferns and options.

She was back at the clearing.

How does this keep happening, she wondered, keeping her sword at the ready as she waited for the Ice Queen to show herself again.

She didn't wait long, however, as suddenly the grassy clearing shimmered and iced over, turning into a frozen disk. Looking down, Fionna could just make out a faint reflection of herself, but as she looked closer she realized it wasn't her at all. The mirror image was the Ice Queen herself, standing foot to foot with Fionna.

And then the world flipped topsy-turvy before going completely black.

[shotsfiredxiv]

Encounter

After his meeting with the Maelstrom, Y’rito walked out of the Mist area to make his way back to the city through Lower La Noscea. The stars shone brightly in the night sky, much clearer than any night in Ul’dah. For some reason, he felt like he could see them better in La Noscea. The fields were quiet as the night settled as well, and Y’rito couldn’t see a single soul as he made his way toward Limsa.

However, the wind carried a strange presence. Y’rito stopped, listening to the rustling of the trees. Despite the silence, he knew he wasn’t alone. Reaching for the grimoire at his side, he turned around, only to find a hyur with a red mask. The mask looked to be of Gridanian origin and something that a mage would usually wear. But this man did not hail from Gridania, and Y’rito could assume that the mask was used solely to hide his face and not for a ritual of any sort.

“Y’rito, am I right?” The hyur asked, taking a light step forward.

Y’rito’s shoulders tensed and his grip tightened on his grimoire, ready to draw it at any moment. “Who’s asking?” Something about the man’s aether wasn’t right. Y’rito couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was alarming nonetheless.

“You’re a very hard person to track down,” The man continued. “I had to find you myself, since your daughter wouldn’t tell me where you were.” Finally, the man drew a scepter from his robe. Thaumaturge?

Y’rito pulled out his grimoire and opened it up, not risking glancing away from this man. He mentioned Y’mili, which meant that he knew where she was. “What th’ ‘ells have you done with ‘er?” Y’rito growled, his accent beginning to slip.

The man, of course, did not answer. Not that Y’rito expected him to. He was used to people not answering his questions, and so he knew how to force them to. The man threw up his scepter, casting bolts of lightning in Y’rito’s direction.

Y’rito dove out of the way, running his fingers along the geometry of his spells. “If ye harmed a single ‘air on their ‘eads, yer gonna regret it.” Y’rito stood up and threw his hand forward, light shining from his grimoire as a ball of flames burst out in front of him, forming an egi from the fire. Ifrit.

The hyur chuckled from under the mask. “Oh, interesting. I thought you said you were just a simple arcanist.” He said, bringing his scepter in front of him. “But you’re using Allagan magic. Is there no limit to how ignorant Eorzeans can be?” The anger in the man’s voice became increasingly apparent, though Y’rito had no idea why.

Instead of pondering it, Y’rito ordered the egi to attack. The egi moved forward to claw at the man, but was knocked back when he casted a block of ice at the summoned beast. While the man was distracted, Y’rito traced his hands over another spell in his book, channeling the aether to cast a cloud of miasma over the stranger.

It didn’t take long for the man to lean over, coughing and gagging from the miasma. The egi struck him in the back with its claws, knocking him over to writhe on the ground. Y’rito stepped forward as the cloud began to clear. “I’ve got an endless array o’ shite I can throw at ye. Unless ye wanna tell me what I asked fer.” He looked down at the hyur with a piercing glare. If this man was connected, he wasn’t going to let him go. And the Maelstrom were foolish if they thought Y’rito wouldn’t fight the enemies himself as well.

But Y’rito heard a familiar voice behind him that sent a chill down his spine. “Oh, Y’rito,” It began. “Fifty-six years old and still a fool.” Y’rito turned around, only to find the same masked man he had just been fighting. He glanced toward the body on the ground, but it was gone. A fake? What kind of magic could do something like that?

However, before either of them could make another move, a stone shot up from the ground. The hyur jumped out of the way, but it smacked Y’rito right in the jaw, sending him to the ground.

“Y’rito!” A feminine voice shrieked from a small distance ahead. Y’rito sat up and brought a hand up to rub his jaw. It didn’t seem like anything was out of place. When he tried to locate the hyur, he was gone. Dammit!

He looked up to find the source of the voice and noticed a roegadyn woman with soft features approaching him. He recognized her as Divine Orchid, Y’mili’s childhood friend. She was short by roegadyn standards, and her voice was surprisingly light and girly.

“Are you all right?” She asked as she knelt down beside him, holding a conjurer’s cane. “I didn’t mean to hit you! There was a man here and he looked scary! I’m sorry!”

Y’rito waved a hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Just disappointed that he got away. Have you seen Mili at all?”

Orchid shook her head in disappointment. “No. I’ve been searching for her every night, but I haven’t seen her since a few weeks ago.”

Y’rito held out his hand to her and the egi dissipated away. “Help me up. I’m going to head to Maelstrom Command and tell them what I saw. They’re looking for her, too.”

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - 6: Cohabitation Chaos

-------------------------------

6: Cohabitation Chaos

-------------------------------

Hey, Folks! So far this story has been primarily doom and gloom - and the doom and gloom is far from over - so I figured it was time for some fluff - a little breather from the drama, if you will. After all, when people move in together madness ensues and Amber hasn't been living with the guys very long at all. Hope this light-hearted chapter doesn't disappoint! Dedicated to all us short chicks livin' in a tall man's world.

Trigger warnings: The usual plus a very mild lime—nothing too descriptive, it's very brief and practically pointless to skip.

Suggested Listening: Simon and Garfunkel, "Bridge Over Troubled Water"

February 10th

Not one step out the bathroom door, Amber's ears picked up the sound of scrambling and frantic words in the kitchen. "Not even five minutes, an' there's already more work to be done," she sighed tiredly. "I'm gettin' too old for this."

In the kitchen doorway, she was greeted by the sight of Mikey scrubbing frantically at a grimy blackened pile of something on the countertop—the countertop Amber scrubbed clean after lunch. "What happened?" she deadpanned. Mikey whipped about with a girly shriek and the grubby sponge went flying across the room to land in the corner with a splat.

"I didn't do it!" he exclaimed, waving his hands defensively. "It's not my fault!"

"Yeah, you did, and it is," Leo contradicted sternly, leaning back against the opposite wall. "You took the crumb tray off the toaster so the leftover pizza would fit. Everything melted off the pizza and burned onto the countertop...and you probably murdered the toaster." Mikey grinned sheepishly, rubbing his neck.

"Heheh," he laughed nervously. "Well, at least you didn't break it, this time, right Bruh?" Leo stared back without a word, clearly unimpressed; sure, the toaster hated him, but was that really his fault?

With a long-suffering sigh, Amber approached the scorched cheese, sauce, and toppings. "Lemme get this straight." She grabbed the dripping sponge from the floor and wrung it out over the sink. "You packed the toaster full of pizza, left the crumb tray pushed aside and nothing underneath, then tried scrubbing the mess off with cold water and a half-dead sponge."

"The water was warm," he protested weakly. "And—" She cut him off, flinging her arms wide.

"Water, Mikey, water!" Sometimes Mikey reminded her of a less socially awkward Aaron; she forced the thought away as she chucked the sponge in the sink and started digging through a low cabinet. "You tried cleanin' up a hot, greasy, burned-on mess with water! Water alone will never clean up grease, especially burned grease!"

Armed with a box of baking soda, a spray bottle of white vinegar, and a plastic chisel, she tackled the mess. Once she'd chipped and scraped off as much as she could, she piled baking soda on the remainder. "Towels, Mikey?" she asked, startling him into action. With a couple old towels laid around the mess as a barrier, she started spraying the baking soda with vinegar.

"Whoa!" Mikey uttered as the mixture foamed violently with every spray. "What happened?" Amber shrugged noncommittally.

"It's just a chemical reaction, Mike," she answered, never noticing Donatello slip into the kitchen for coffee. "Vinegar's an acid, an' bakin' soda's a base; when they're combined, vinegar steals a hydrogen atom from the soda. The reaction produces water an' carbon dioxide, hence the fo—" Mid-spray she turned to look at Mikey; he was staring at her, bewildered. "Bakin' soda an' vinegar make a foamy mess that's great for burnin' off stubborn grease," she simplified gruffly.

"Oh!" he exclaimed with a wide grin. "So, you got this?" A dirty look from both Donnie and Leo made him cringe. "Eh…I mean, ya need a hand?" With a humoring smile, she passed him the spray bottle.

"Keep sprayin' 'til it stops foamin', then scrub off the rest an' rinse it off. Call me if ya need help, 'kay?" He pouted, but nodded in agreement and took over spraying the still foaming mass. With a grin at Leo and Donnie, Amber returned to dusting the dojo.

"'Just a chemical reaction,' huh?" Donatello smirked at her from the doorway. "You realize he probably has no idea what a 'base' is, right?"

"Meh," she shrugged, hopping up on her toes to reach part of the weapons rack. "Not my fault—I ain't his Mama. Joke's on him, anyway - he kin spray it 'til the pigs come home,- it's gonna keep foamin' up."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" The unexpected comment caught her off guard, and though she knew he meant no harm, it rubbed her wrong. "I'd never have expected—"

"What?" she retorted sharply, stretching as high as possible. "My native language is Hick, so I must be a moron?"

"No!" he protested loudly. Her tenuous balance failed and she fell into his outstretched arms. "I just didn't—I mean—Ah, shell, I messed up again." Right above hers, shielded hazel eyes winced. "Do-over?" he proposed as he helped her back to her feet. Amber sighed in frustration, but plopped down on the dojo floor cross-legged; he followed suit, stretching out beside her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, avoiding his eyes. "I dunno why I've been so—so cranky lately…I'm usually not the sort to get mad without damn good reason, but here I've been blowing up all over everyone for no reason. I dunno what's wrong with me…My Mama whupped my hide- fer far less'n- this."

"You've been through a lot, Amber," Donatello argued. "Your life is—"

"Yeah, yeah, I died an' all that," she interrupted. "None'a that's any excuse for bein' a total bitch to y'all over nothin'. I just wish I knew what was wrong with me."

Decade old rosebushes buried under a ton of shingles. Trees shaved bare of bark and twigs.

He watched her silently a moment; her head was bowed and her trembling shoulders drawn tight, a sure sign that she was again fighting memories she couldn't shut off. If only he could help...He knew it wasn't much, but he gripped her shoulder supportively. Not surprisingly, she leaned into his side, shivering.

"I jus' wish I could shut off these thoughts—these memories—" She shook her head viciously, haunted eyes staring through the gleaming floorboards.

Fiberglass tumbleweeds drift across a vacant parking lot.

"It's crazy, but it's almost like someone else is in control of my thoughts, my memories, an' they're trying to break me with them! I just…" she trailed off, turning to timidly meet his eyes. "Donnie…what if April's right? What if I am…broken?"

"No one said anything about being broken," he answered sternly, hoping she hadn't heard April suggest just such a thing. "I was hoping you hadn't heard that conversation." She slumped further.

"I came to apologize. It's not your fault I feel too sick to eat, yer just tryin' to help me."

Outstretched hands holding a mug of cloudy soup. A familiar voice begging her to eat.

"I…" Her voice cracked. "I shouldn't be here…I shouldn't e'en be alive. If I stayed dead, this wouldn't be happening!"

The bottom fell out of Donatello's stomach. "You don't…you're not wishing you were dead, are you?" he asked softly. "Amber, you got a second chance…if you hadn't, if you'd stayed dead," He swallowed noisily, avoiding her eyes. "W-We'd never have met…and without the repeated alarms, we'd never have found Kimber's body…she'd have been unable to rest, forgotten in the underground."

She blushed, distractedly hitching her tee shirt up higher. The neckline didn't bare the hated tattoo she now bore, but it still made her uncomfortable knowing it was there. She still felt sorry for the death of the body's previous occupant, but she had yet to feel anything but annoyance for the woman herself. Damned Purple Dragon punks, she thought darkly.

"Do you regret it?" Donnie asked hesitantly. "—regret meeting us?"

"Of course not," she answered with a tired smile. "How could I regret meeting you—all of you?" she added hastily. She didn't want to come across as creepy, after all. She didn't notice the mild disappointment in her companion's eyes. "I guess…I guess I just don't know what to feel, really. Of all the people who didn't make it out of that storm, why'd I get a second chance? I never use this word out of principle," she almost spat, her tone harsh. "But it just doesn't seem fair that I lived and they didn't! Whole families died—mothers, fathers, children, elderly, no one was excluded! Half my town's first-responders were killed or injured! Why'd I get a second chance when so many who're more worthy weren't spared?!"

Donatello wasn't at all surprised when she practically fell into his open arms, sobbing uncontrollably. He was a little disappointed, though. It had been thirteen days since Amber first dove into his arms in the throes of a panic attack and twelve since he admitted to her that he didn't mind it. He was her bridge over troubled water, her port in the storm, and he would never turn away someone who really needed him.

Ever since getting the okay, she sought comfort in his arms when she felt her world crashing down. When she found herself unable to fight off the demons on her own, she invaded his personal space until she could breathe again.

Not that he minded, he reminded himself silently, awkwardly petting her hair. He was only too glad to help whenever he could…and if he was honest with himself, he enjoyed the contact. Therein lay the rub…she only sought his arms when she needed comfort. She needed comfort, consolation, not affection and the like. For all he knew, she left a lover behind in her old life. The very idea stung; twice now, a woman had been practically dropped into his family's laps, and both times, that woman hadn't considered them human enough for a relationship. Though he'd never agree with any of Raphael's outbursts aloud, it was apparent to him as well…Love wasn't in their cards.

"PSST!" A sudden hiss from the open doorway drew his attention away from the crying redhead. Mikey stood just outside pantomiming an embrace and 'talking' with his hands.

"SHOO," Donatello mouthed back at him. The other threw his hands up in disbelief and stalked away only to return with a whiteboard from the lab. After a moment of scribbling, the board was raised and the words became clear. Quit huggin her & talk—she needs a distraction! The moment Mikey's point became clear, Donnie met his eyes with a wide-eyed halfway panicked stare, shaking his head frantically. Mikey scrubbed the board clean with the sleeve of the hoodie tied around his waist, scrawled another message, then shoved it at Donnie with a pout. Don't make me 'axidently'- break something. TALK or Mr. Coffee gets it!

'You drive a hard bargain, Mikey,' Donatello thought at his younger brother with a scowl. 'And your spelling is terrible.' Somehow he managed to throw an 'I'm watching you' gesture at his younger brother without disturbing the still sniffling woman buried face-first in his other side. Clearly content that his advice was taken, Mikey swaggered off with a smug grin.

As his footsteps faded, Donatello rubbed Amber's back. "Come on," he murmured teasingly. "I know life's a pain right now, but you don't have to suffocate yourself in my armpit." She responded with a snort, burrowing even deeper into his side. "Or not. Your choice, really."

"You don't stink," she grumbled into his plastron. "Turkeys stink—Compared to those, you're a bed'a roses, even after training." Sure she was through crying, she slumped at his side, leaning back against his shoulder. "Thanks…an' sorry for cryin' on ya…again."

"Don't worry about it, Braids," he grinned, chucking her chin. "I'm happy to oblige." They sat in silence a moment, one fighting to contain an excited girly squeal at the nickname and the other searching for ways to distract her.

"I' gotta keep busy, Dunnie," she admitted softly, staring through the weapons rack. She loved his new nickname for her - loved that he cared for her enough to give her a nickname - but it didn't change the facts. She was a mess...a mess he shouldn't have to deal with. "The moment I stop workin' is the moment I start thinkin'…and whenever I think, I remember." She swiped at her cheek to dash away the last of her tears, feeling angry and weak. "What if April's right? What if I do have PTSD?" He stood and brushed his trousers off, then held out his hand to her.

"We'll cross that bridge if and when we get there," he answered confidently. "Until then, there's no use in worrying about it, right?" She accepted the hand up with a bright blush but smiled regardless. Without hesitation, she threw herself back into her dusting.

"Sorry I took your head off…again. It's not your fault you didn't know about that button."

"Button?" he echoed back, watching her closely. She was, after all, pretty clumsy...too clumsy to be left alone with the weapons, even if he actually wanted to leave her alone.

She shrugged. "Yeah, everyone's got buttons, you know," she reminded as though he understood completely. "Big red mental buttons that should never be pushed an' usually result in nuclear fallout when they are. Some people can't handle being called a certain name, some can't handle being reminded'a certain things..." She snorted, grinning at a fond memory. "Heck, my best friend, Mercy - one of her worst buttons was hearing people using words like bipolar, gay, and the like as insults. She wasn't really violence prone, but the one time Aaron called her a 'bipolar bitch,' she 'bout knocked one'a his teeth out." Her face fell the moment she realized it - she wasn't going to see Mercy or Aaron again and the knowledge, though logical, hurt. "I don't really get too bent out'a shape over being called names or reminded of things," she finished instead of admitting her upset. "but whenever someone implies that I'm stupid, they're cruisin' fer a bruisin'."

"You thought I was calling you stupid?" Donnie shook his head. "I simply meant that you've shown little interest in anything but cleaning and cooking in all this time—I know practically nothing about you, but it's blatantly obvious that despite your rough speech, you're not an idiot."

Amber winced avoiding his eyes. "Sammy remembered a lesson the shepherd had given her," she recited softly without much of her usual twang; the author, after all, didn't write with that twang. "…gentle spirit may express itself in the rude words of illiteracy; it is not therefore rude. Ruffianism may speak the language of learning or religion; it is ruffianism still. Strength may wear the garb of weakness, an' still be strong; an' a weakling may carry the weapons of strength but fight with a weak heart." She finally met his eyes. "Harold Bell Wright wrote that in his book Shepherd of the Hills, an' it's entirely true. I walk like a hick, talk like a hick, an' live like a hick, but I'm not an IGNORANT hick." She was more than a hick, she reminded herself tackling the rack of staves, but the hick was what people saw most - it was more acceptable than the side of her she'd suppressed, after all, especially where she came from.

"I couldn't keep my grades up during school," she admitted instead of admitting the thoughts on her mind. "My classmates were absolute terrors, an' livin' in fear of getting the shit kicked out'a ya tends to make schoolin' less of a priority. Soon as I got out'a high school an' into college, though," she grinned almost smugly, "I blew their arses out'a the water—set the curves, aced everything but mathematics an' government, wound up on the Dean's list—well, you get the point."

"Why am I not surprised?" he asked with a low laugh. "You always struck me as too smart for your own good. So you graduated, then?" Her smile cracked; it was a sore subject, but he couldn't know that.

"I was only a few credits away from graduatin' with honors when some moron decided to park a van on my ass mid-crosswalk," she admitted. "It's a miracle I wasn't paralyzed from the waist down. Between physical therapy, corrective surgeries, re-learnin how to walk, an' mountains of legal bullshite, I dropped out; by the time I could walk without a cane, my credits weren't valid anymore an' I was too tired to start over…" ...and too apathetic, she added silently, but he didn't need to know that. She stretched up to reach the top rack again, avoiding his eyes. "I've been very blessed, though - I survived, I met some wonderful people, an' despite my occasional whining, I was happy. I spent the rest of my life workin' as a janitor, but by God, I proved without a shadow of a doubt that I'm not an idiot…and last I knew, my university still hadn't seen anyone beat my cumulative GPA."

"It must have been amazing," Donatello said quietly, his thoughts far from the dojo. "What I'd give for a chance to get a proper education…"

'Dammit, O'Brien,' she thought angrily. 'Ya just had to rub it in his face—quit bein' such a smug braggart!' "For what it's worth," she said brightly. "People go to school to learn; y'already know most of what the curriculum requires. Plus, what with all the other smarts you have piled up in yer brain, if ya crammed a whole major's worth more in there, it'd probably crash from overload—major 'blue screen'a death' stuff, really." He retorted with a sly grin.

"You're just scared I'll beat your records," he teased. "Couldn't handle havin' a turtle beat you at, say, algebra."

"No contest there," she grinned in response, surveying the impressive cobwebs in the rafters of the room; she could never reach them, and it was driving her bonkers. "A rock could beat me at algebra." Without warning, he swept her off her feet and onto his shoulders; between shrieks and threats, he chuckled,

"Get those cobwebs—they said 'yer mama wears army boots.'"

"Yeah?" she squawked, smacking him with the dust-rag. "Well, yer mama couldn't outrun a snail!" As the two traded quips and tackled the dusty rafters, Mikey darted back to the TV, satisfied in a hard day's meddling.

"Amber?" She bolted upright in bed, scanning the dark bedroom. "Amber, are you up?"

"Yeah," she answered softly as her eyes registered Donatello seated on the edge of her lumpy bed, unmasked and wearing only his trousers. He made the dark, cluttered room seem small - granted, her little 'shotgun shack' wasn't that big to begin with, but the presence of the tall, gangly mutant seemed to make it seem much smaller. "I am now. What's going on?" He shrugged, his lips tilted in an easy smile.

"I just couldn't stop thinking about you, really." He brushed a lock of dark brown hair from her cheek behind her ear, triggering a deep blush. "You wouldn't stay out of my dreams…so I came to invade yours. You don't mind, do you?" Warmth bloomed in her core at his confident, playful smile.

"Uh…" she stammered as his knuckles traced her cheekbone and jaw. Even without her glasses, she could plainly see the heat in his eyes - AND where this was going. "O-Of course not—you're always welcome here." Her pulse raced as his fingertips trailed over to her pulse point, hovering there long enough to sense the rapid beat.

"There's no need to be afraid, Braids," he murmured leaning in to bury his snout in her loose hair. "I'm here…I'll protect you." The words were stolen right from her lungs by a slow, sensual brush of lips on hers; as though gaining confidence from her suddenly gelatinous bones, he repeated the gesture several times more, then rubbed his snout against her nose. She whimpered and clung to him as he drew away the blanket and blazed a burning trail down her body. "Let me take care of you?" Before she could argue, her clothing was gone and his head was buried between her quaking thighs.

"DONNIE" she cried aloud as he sucked and lapped at her hot, naked flesh. "Oh Lawd —Oh God, DONNIE!"

"That's it, Amber," he murmured, his voice husky from heat and want. "Don't hold back—let go, I'm here." His words sent twinges down her spine—twinges that distracted her from how unexpected they were. "Amber…Brilliant, beautiful, precious Amber…" Only a little more—just a little longer, and she'd—

"Mikey!" A deafening roar startled Amber from her sleep and onto the floor in a sweaty pile. "I said LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" As Raph and Mike tussled in the living room, Amber realized what had occurred.

"Goddammit!" she snarled as she hoisted herself up onto the cot again, swatting her punch red hair back over her shoulders. 'If it ain't fuckin' nightmares, it's wet dreams,' she thought darkly, beating the lumpy pillow into submission. Finally, she had a good dream...and Raph murdered it! 'April's draggin' me out tomorrow—I gotta get some sleep.'

Unseen by the irate female, Donatello rolled his eyes and returned to fixing the toaster. The lab had been stifling with her pheromones, but the air was finally clearing.

Hours later as the sun rose over Manhattan, a badly off-key voice belted out "Poison Ivy" in the lair's bathroom. One half-asleep ninja staggered to the kitchen for coffee while two more slept soundly. Two rooms away, the remaining two snored to beat the band, both tied to their beds spread-eagled and one gagged with a dirty sock.

Revenge, Amber thought later as she texted pictures to April's phone, is sweet.

WORDS (Midwestern twang unless otherwise noted)

-Axidently - Mikey's spelling is atrocious. "Accidentally." - Lawd - Lord. This is actually a more Southern pronunciation than Midwestern, but it sometimes makes its way over the Arkansas-Missouri state line to southern Missouri, where Amber is from. - Less'n - This one has two possible meanings depending on its use. First meaning is simply less than. Second meaning, also sometimes written out as Unless'n or 'n'less'n is just an elaborated version of unless. The first meaning is much more commonly used unless the speaker is being a smartass. - None'a - None of - Schoolin' - This isn't typical Midwestern Twang, but rather an odd term Amber picked up from her Gran'Da. Simply means "Schooling," or rather, 'going to school and taking classes.' - Y'already - You already - "Whupped my hide" / A whuppin' - Whuppin' refers to punishment of a child by way of spanking or noisy blows to the rear, usually with a yard stick, paddle, or belt, or in more extreme cases, 'a whuppin' stick' or switch. It's not really considered abuse except among folks who consider spanking abuse, and a child is more likely to become a heathen from never having it than from having it. As recently as Cold's childhood, it was still considered acceptable to send your kid out back, make them 'pick a switch,' then use it to smack their asses instead of spanking them. The whole point behind whuppin' a kid is not to cause injury, but to punish them by way of emotional distress over the noise. Conversely, when someone tells an adult "I'll whup yer ass," "I'll give you a whuppin'," or something similar, they're referring to laying a beat-down on them by way of fisticuffs instead of spanking them. - "He kin spray it 'til the pigs come home" - 'He can spray it until the pigs come home.' NORMALLY people say 'til the COWS come home but my research into Scottish slang indicates that cow is regarded as a serious insult, one of the worst you can aim at a woman. Because of that, Amber replaces cows with pigs. Regarding Vinegar and Baking Soda: After the two have been mixed and the bubbling’s stopped, they don’t really do a damn thing. If you mix them on the surface you’re cleaning, some messes will loosen or ‘burn off’ from the bubbling. And yes, it WILL keep foaming up as long as you keep adding vinegar or baking soda, no matter how diluted it gets. Consider that Amber’s way of getting back at Mikey for neglecting common sense. - Adding 'a to the end of a word - This can have two different meanings, depending on how the rest of the sentence is put together. Sometimes it means 'to,' like tryin'a means 'trying to;' other times, it means 'of,' as in out'a which means 'out of.' Generally you can determine the meaning of the 'a by the preceding word - preceded by a verb usually means 'to' while 'of' can be preceded by a verb OR a non-verb, generally any word you're likely to use 'of' after.

One more note: "Poison Ivy" is a song originally recorded by The Coasters, and it's a real crackup! Seriously, the first time I heard it, after years of breaking out in hives just from walking past poison ivy, I laughed so hard I stopped breathing. Give it a listen sometime if you need a laugh.

Hope you enjoyed the fluffy reprieve, because it's time to torture Amber again.

Up Next: Best Laid Plans

Chapter List

[chwrpg]

DOVE MITCHELL. college junior; twenty. brittany o'grady. TAKEN.

and, as debra once said:

“I went to rock and roll heaven, and I wasn't on the guest list.”

BEFORE THE PARTY;

Dove's beginnings sound like a legend, nothing real. The only reason they sound moderately less ridiculous is because they're Genevieve's beginnings too. But she wouldn't know that until much later, when the dust had already settled. As a child, all she knew was that she had a father. No mother in the picture. No proof of her existence. She'd been there once upon a time, Dove assumed, but she wasn't there anymore. Onward and upward, her father always said. So onward and upward they would go.

To say she felt uncomfortable in her skin from the start would be an understatement. Dove was always the weirdo in the crowd, the kid who played in the sandbox alone — the kid who had no friends at all. It didn't help that she had a clueless father at home who was obsessed with diagosing the problem — even going as far as getting her a child therapist who was equally stumped. How could they help if Dove never talked?

In middle school, she only existed in her inner monologue, her black wardrobe begging to fade into the background. But no one else wore all black, so of course she still stuck out. Of course she might as well have worn a neon sign that said I don't fit in here. The teasing was merciless, to be sure, but Dove was so preoccupied with figuring out the problem that she couldn't mange to focus on the cruelty.

Her father had bred it into her — the need to identify what was wrong. He hadn't given up, and the therapy appointments only kicked up a notch as the years went on. She still didn't speak, only picked at her nails as she considered the equation herself. The kids — they called her crazy, called her weird, called her gay. Nothing quite fit.

Then, it came to her, as she was shopping for the outfit she would wear for her ticket out — her eighth grade graduation. She stuffed a dress into her bag and walked out of the store, filled with exhiliaration. She went home and stared at it in the mirror, held against her frame. She considered. Then, it made sense.

"I'm a girl," she said, matter-of-factly, when she spoke for the first time in therapy. There was no arguing; she just knew. And no way in hell was someone going to take it away from her.

Then came the mountains that wouldn't depart easily for her to pass. Her therapist had questions. Her father wasn't convinced that this would solve her issues. It seemed so extreme, something that she'd never be able to come back from. But Dove knew that she wouldn't want to turn back, so she fought — and eventually, the rocks broke, and she got what she wanted. But it came with a price, as all things do.

It probably wasn't a good idea to stay in the same place, go to school with all the same people while transitioning. Things got rougher, as she expected they would, but she thought her new self would serve as an armor, something hard won that she knew would always be on her side. It probably could have been, had she not been on the defensive from all sides. When things didn't get better instantly, her father became accusatory. He didn't know how to deal with this new child of his, as he saw it; Dove didn't have the patience to explain that she'd been this girl all along, and that the only difference was that now everyone could see it.

"Are you sure you're not just being dramatic?" He would ask, again and again, and with each instance, Dove retreated further within herself. No one was on her side. Fine. If the world expected dramatic, she would give it to them.

Nothing would come easy to her, and it all seemed so unfair. She was hardened, more than most anyone her age, and it was difficult to penetrate the brick walls she put up. In the middle of freshman year, she shaved her head just because she could — because it made her more of a pariah, more of someone to avoid, and maybe fear. "Doesn't seem very girly, does it?" Her father commented. He missed the point, but then again, he always did. As did the people she went to school with, especially the girls, who judged her so fiercely and yet got all of Dove's attention, as if she could figure out why when there was so much else going on in her head.

All the roads led to one place. By the time Dove got herself expelled for multiple offenses — including spraying profane graffiti onto the school doors and blasting her favorite rock band through the intercom speakers in lieu of morning announcements — her father didn't even have an inkling that she was on her first strike, let alone her tenth.

They had to move elsewhere, considering no one in the district would take her. So they did, and apparently they were going back home, if Dove's father was to be believed. To a place full of ghosts for him. He'd been speaking to her mother, he said, and he thought that it would be best if the family were to reunite.

The family? Dove's mother held her chin in her hands, examined her as if she'd never seen her before. She smiled, with a warmth that betrayed the cold woman Dove had always envisioned. It was almost going to be a moment, until Genevieve poked out from behind her.

"You were my brother, last I saw you," Gen said in lieu of a greeting.

So Gen had friends who became her friends, and those friends had no idea that last time Dove saw Gen, she'd been her brother too. But she had enough problems of her own to sort out — including the fact that she somehow found these friends both insufferable and endearing. Her sister's mess was not her own.

DURING THE PARTY;

Dove had been working at TRAX for a few weeks when the dam finally broke while getting ready for the stupid party Gen was unnecessarily excited about.

"If you tell them, I'll kill you." And honestly, it sounded like Gen meant it. But it didn't matter to Dove, who had no intention of telling anyone anything. What mattered was the fact that Gen was way too invested in this fake, old-new family they'd constructed, and Dove wasn't into playing the game.

"So what if I do, huh? What are you gonna do about it?" Dove snapped.

Gen only glowered, her answer lying in her eyes. She didn't need to express it.

So Dove said nothing else, only snatching up a duffel bag she'd already packed for the occasion and forgoing the party altogether. "Excuse me while I beat you to the punch."

Some time later, once she and Malcolm had gone through a couple joints, she surveyed the scene, took account of the apartment that she presumed was her home now. She wasn't going back — not to the Partridge family.

"I'm pretty lonely," he muttered, in his usual pothead headspace.

"Well, I'm transgender, so," she countered before inhaling another puff — a confession that was well timed with Leland swinging the door open, looking about as confused as he'd ever looked. Which, in the little time Dove had known him, was pretty confused.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.